“Way to go, everyone!” Pam said in her usual confident tone. “This was big and we exceeded every goal. Great teamwork!” Pam was one of the executives at the bank I’ve worked for the last five years. She loved to be up front as the center of attention, especially to give one of her cheerleading speeches. There are plenty of stories of how she “worked” her way to the top over the years, but none of that matters. She’s my boss.
It’s not that she’s hard to look at, or a bad boss. She’s easy on the eyes, and relishes it when she knows she’s captured someone’s attention. She loves catching men or women stealing a second look, offering a wink as an added prize. I know this by experience. At only 5’2”, she has a petite, fit body. She takes care of herself and clearly cares about her appearance. Her brunette hair falls past her shoulders, framing her tanned face and sparkling brown eyes. Barely in proportion to the rest of her body, she has large, round tits and a great ass. Her ass and legs are usually accentuated by her just-barely-long-enough skirts and heels she likes to wear. She looks at least a dozen years younger than her fifty-four years.
Pam hand-picked ten of us to work on a new lucrative initiative for the bank. It took a year to put together and implement. As she said, it was a huge success. This was our final meeting of the team. I hate meetings, and this one dragged on painfully. Each person was tasked to report their final numbers to the group. It would have been much more efficient to report the details through our shared network or email rather than wasting everyone’s time with verbal reports. But doing it electronically would prevent Pam the opportunity to have a roomful of eyes on her in the medium-sized conference room.
“Now that the reports are done, it’s time to celebrate!” she declared. “I’ve ordered in some custom cupcakes! What better way to celebrate, right?” she exclaimed with continuing enthusiasm.
I could think of a dozen better ways without even trying. Cupcakes? Seriously?
Then, as if on cue, the incredible vision walked into the room carrying a big, flat box filled with confectionaries.
“Damn!” I said unintentionally out loud. The woman carrying the box caught me completely off guard. My jaw dropped.
She looked over, responding to my exclamation with a warm smile. She was tall, towering over Pam. She must have been 5’10”. Her long blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled. She wore a short, white, lace top that showed off her perfect 34C tits. The lace exposed that she was not wearing a bra. Her small, jean shorts showcased her long, fit legs. Her continuing smile lit up the room.
“Everyone, this is Katie Kingston. She’s a friend of Ashley, and has her own bakery on the side, called Katie’s Cakery. If you ever need anything baked, there’s no one better!”
I sat up in my chair. My eyes were glued to her as I watched her approach Pam.
“Thank you, Pam,” Katie said. “I’ll leave some of my cards here, if anyone is interested.” She smiled as her eyes scanned the room, locking briefly onto mine. She pushed her long fingers into the tiny pocket of her shorts, pulled out a stack of cards, and set them on the table.
Fuck, I thought to myself. Having this in-person meeting was the best idea Pam ever had.
Katie began to walk the box around the table, allowing each team member to pick a cupcake out of the box. She smiled at each person as they selected a work of her art. I could feel my cock hardening, the closer she got. It was as if time slowed.
The vision stepped up next to me as I remained seated. I tried my best to push the rolling chair closer to the table to hide the growing tent in the front of my pants. She offered a knowing smile. The whiff of the cupcakes smelled wonderful. They each looked like miniature masterpieces, much like the artist herself.
“Beautiful,” I said, not indicating if I was describing the baked goods or the baker. The truth was, I meant both but had much more interest in the baker.
She took another step, putting herself unusually close to me, holding the box in front of me. If I turned my face toward her, her tits were only two inches away at eye level, like lace-covered cupcakes. I could see the outline of her dark nipples through the thin lace.
“Which one would you like?” she invited. Her question sounded innocent, but I was certain it was a wicked tease.
I stirred in my chair, knowing Pam and a few others were watching, especially those who hadn’t received their cupcake yet. I wanted to bury my face into her.
It had been a few years since I’d had a good fuck. First, there were the months of marital conflict that were void of any sex, followed by the divorce, then a drought of sex in the months after as a single dad of a five-year-old. Pent-up carnal lust and other raw emotions began to stir deep within me. Her dark veiled nipple teased as if reaching out to me. The fragrance of her skin mesmerized me. The soft confident tone in her seductive voice toyed. She unknowingly taunted my hidden, bottled-up, volcanic depravity. More than her delicious cupcakes, I wanted to splay and consume her on the long conference table.
“Let’s go Donovan!” a voice said, piercing the bubble of my lust-filled trance.
“Ah, yeah, right,” I said, feeling some embarrassment, not knowing how long I was lost in my own wanton fantasy.
She smiled at me, I swear enjoying the moment. She watched as I picked one of the chocolate cupcakes out of the box. “Enjoy,” she said in a sultry voice.
I sunk my teeth into the delicacy as I watched her continue to make her way around the table, offering her creations to the rest of the room.
Katie set the box with the remaining cupcakes at the head of the table, next to Pam. “There’s more here, if anyone wants,” Katie said to Pam, loud enough for everyone else to hear.
“Thank you, Katie,” Pam responded. “You’re the best!”
Katie turned and walked toward the door. “My pleasure,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at the room, offering a brief smile when her eyes locked again onto mine.
Damn, I thought, look at that ass.
I stood up, doing my best to hide my continuing arousal. I walked to the front of the room as nonchalantly as I could to pick up one of the 'Katie’s Cakery' cards.
“Like her baking, Mark?” Pam asked, with a devilish smile, before stealing a quick glance at the front of my pants.
I blushed. “Uh, yeah,” I answered, trying not to confirm what was obvious about my interest in the caterer. “My daughter has a birthday coming up in a couple of months and I have no idea how to bake a cake.”
“She puts out the best,” Pam answered, her tone making the double-entendre obvious.
“Uh, yeah, I bet she does,” I answered awkwardly.
Pam smiled, relishing in my palpable discomfort.
A brief awkward pause was interrupted by excited voices in the hallway just outside the conference room door. I looked over to see another blonde talking with Katie. It was Pam’s daughter Ashley.
“Hey Katie! What are you doing here?”
“Your mom asked me to bring some cupcakes for some kind of celebration they’re having in there,” she answered. “How are you? You look tan!”
“Just got back from an unexpected trip to Costa Rica with Cliff.”
“Seriously?”
“One minute I was having lunch with my mom, the next I was on a plane.”
“Damn. How was it?”
Their voices suddenly softened, but were still just loud enough to hear. “It was fuckin’ amazing, Katie. Cliff blew my mind. I think I blew his, and everyone else there.”
“Wait, what?”
“Let’s get drinks. I’ll tell you all about it, since you got me into this.”
Katie laughed. “Ah, I think that was all you, Ash, daring me. Text me when and where, and I’ll be there!”
I glanced again at the door and saw the two women part ways. I put the business card in my pocket. “Well, I better get going,” I said.
“Thanks again Mark,” she answered. “It was great having you on this project.”
“Thanks Pam. Great meeting today.”
When I got home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the gorgeous baker. I held her card in my hand, picked up my cell phone and tried the number.
“Hello.”
“Uh, hi,” I said awkwardly. “My name is Mark. Mark Donovan. I was at the meeting at the bank today that got your cupcakes.”
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. They were great. My neighborhood is having a block party this weekend. I was wondering if maybe I could order some cupcakes or something for that.”
“I can do that,” she answered.
I awkwardly placed my order. Katie realized she lived nearby and offered to deliver them at a public gym parking lot by my house. As I got ready to leave, I felt an excitement I hadn’t felt in a few years. I checked myself in the mirror, looking back into my own hazel eyes. My brownish hair, short on the sides had a little length on top was in place. I wondered if I should trim up my scruffy facial hair. It wasn’t long, but more than stubble. I decided against it. I threw on a polo that showed off my fit body, and a pair of jeans. I wanted to look decent but still casual.
I pulled into the parking lot and only waited a minute before she showed up. She waved with that gorgeous smile as she pulled in next to me. She stepped out of her car wearing a short, white and grey thin-striped dress with red Converse All-Star tennis shoes. Two thin straps over her shoulders held the dress on. There was no bra. I couldn’t help wondering if there was anything under the thin fabric of the sexy dress.
“Here you are!” she said enthusiastically. She opened the box. “I hope you like what you see.” She looked up at me with her large blue eyes.
“Fantastic,” I said complementing more than her cupcakes.
“Great,” she said. “I’m glad you like them. Hope your neighbors do too!”
Our hands slid across each other as she handed me the box. Electricity went through my body. Yet, almost as quickly as she had arrived, she was gone.
I can’t deny the sheer lust that pulsated through me at the sight of her, let alone her inconsequential touch. As much as I wanted to read into the moment, I resigned myself to the fact she was just a friendly person selling her cupcakes.
Over the next couple of months, I found reasons to continue to order baked goods from Katie’s Cakery. There were more cupcakes, but also cookies, bread, and even some muffins for the office. “Wow,” she said once, “you have a lot of baking needs. If I didn’t know better…” Her words trailed off as if stopping herself from what she planned to say.
Katie was very glad for my repeat patronage and support of her side-business. With each order I made, we grew more comfortable with each other. We discovered things in common from our mutual love of travel to our rabid support of the Wildcat athletic program of the nearby university. Katie no longer was the random one-night-stand I wanted to fuck. She became the friendly acquaintance I still wanted to fuck. I also realized any chance of that was slim.
My daughter’s birthday was only a week away. It was time to order a special cake. I called Katie. I’m not very good or experienced at ordering cakes for little girls. Katie offered to make something she thought would be perfect. “If you like it, great,” she said. “If not, then you can still take it, no charge.”
“You sound confident,” I said.
“It’s one of my specialties,” she answered. We arranged to meet at our usual spot for delivery after work the following Friday at 6:00 pm. I was excited to have a beautiful cake for my daughter’s birthday party on Saturday.
The week went by slowly. It was a sad reality that, other than my daughter’s birthday, the highlight of my week was anticipating a brief rendezvous to pick up a cake from an acquaintance in the public parking lot.
I need to get a life. I should have seen the demise of my marriage coming with the growing entitled bitchiness of my ex-wife. I should have seen the signs of her infidelities. My generosity of time, attention and gifts only enabled her never-enough princess attitude. I even tried to take the high ground during the divorce to make it as amicable as possible. She got everything, including primary custody, the house, her new boy toy, and other men she brings in behind his back. What am I left with, but looking forward to standing in a parking lot at the end of the workweek, holding a birthday cake.
Don’t get me wrong. No pity-party here. I made my own choices and have no regrets. I was a good husband and am a great dad. A little karma would be nice, but it is what it is. That isn’t to deny the escalating pent-up sexual frustration. What I’d give for a good fuck. It’s not easy putting myself out there again. I couldn’t see it happening any time soon.
Friday finally came. The hours at work seemed to pass more slowly than usual. Another weekend. Even the drive home in the usual Friday rush hour moved more slowly. My phone buzzed with a text.
“Hey Mark. I’m running late. Mind meeting me an hour later than we planned?”
“Sure. No problem. I’m flexible. Nothing planned.”
I got home, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed a beer. As it got close to the time to leave, my phone buzzed again with a text: “I’m so sorry to ask this. I just got a Tinder date and am running behind. Any chance you could pick it up at my house?”
Fuck, I thought to myself. I don’t have plans, but she does. Someone’s getting fucked tonight and it’s not going to be me.
“Sure,” I said.
“Thanks! That’s a huge help!” Katie texted me her address.
I pulled in front of the modest house right at 7:00 pm. The sun was setting and lights were on inside. I knocked on the door.
“It’s open,” came her familiar voice.
I opened the door and stepped into the house, closing the door behind me. The living room was nicely decorated with light blue walls with walnut trim and floors. A white plush couch sat against one long wall, adjacent to a small wall with white brick and a fireplace insert. A large screen TV hung over the mantle. A prominent, wood-trimmed, picture window and open doorway were on the wall facing the couch, with small white shelves between. Artwork and mirrors decorated the walls.
Nice taste, I thought to myself. Makes sense a cake decorator would have an artistic eye in other aspects of her life. It was certainly true with the clothes I’d seen her wear. She always looked like she stepped out of a magazine, but in an approachable, down-to-earth way. Her house was the same.
“In here,” she said, the voice calling from through the opposite doorway.
I walked through the doorway into a small dining room with an adjacent kitchen. The dining area had a beautifully decorated wall covered in white ornamental fabric. The other walls were navy blue. Like the living room, the floors and trim were wood. In the center of the room was a round glass table with blue chairs for four. A large matching blue mirror covered the third wall.
She likes mirrors, I thought to myself.
The dining room opened up to the kitchen. It was an open L-shaped kitchen with white cupboards, granite counters and large ceramic floor tiles. The kitchen was accented by a black microwave oven over a large black convection and stove on the short wall. Three decorative hanging lights hung over the sink in the corner with a window looking out to the back of the house. Like the rest of her home, wood trim surrounded the room.
Unlike the rest of the immaculately-kept house, the kitchen was a mess. There was flour on the counters. Dirty mixing bowls were stacked in the sink, except the one still in the mixer. An open carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, a bottle of vanilla, a bag of sugar, a box of butter, a container of shortening, cocoa, and a bag of powdered sugar all crowded the counter. It looked like a bomb went off in a bakery, making it a confectionary disaster area.
Katie stood in the middle of it all. Her hair was up except for a few strands that hung next to her face. She was wearing an apron that itself was decorated with ingredients. The apron covered her short top and shorts, making it look like there was nothing on beneath. Flour, powdered sugar, and a small touch of chocolate frosting decorated her face and arms.
She looked up with a smile. “Almost done!” she said in a hurried voice. The almost-finished cake sat on the small counter between the sink and stove.
“Great,” I answered.
“I’m running so late. I have that Tinder date in a half hour, and I’m nowhere near ready. It was a last-minute thing. I really appreciate you coming by to pick the cake up. I hope she likes it.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’m sure she will.”
“Wanna see it?” she said, running her hands down the front of her apron.
My eyes were glued to her hands moving down her body. “Ah, sure,” I said, more interested in what was behind the apron than the cake.
Katie turned and invited me into the kitchen, where the cake was sitting. I moved in next to her. The counter was in the tight corner of the L. The sides of our bodies touched as we both looked at the baked artwork in front of us. She baked a chocolate cake decorated as a princess fantasyland. It was beautiful and perfect. I knew my daughter would love it. A smile of approval grew on my face.
“You like it?” she asked, with a subtle tone of knowing pride in her voice.
“It’s perfect,” I said. “You are really good at this.”
“Great!” she said. “It makes my day that you like it. I hope she does too.”
We continued to stand next to each other, our arms grazing one another as we talked. There was an unspoken sexual energy that rose standing so close, crowded in the corner despite all the space around us in the house. Her sexual energy no doubt was built from the plans she had, anticipating a Tinder date. Mine was the intensifying of the latent sexual frustration that plagued me for months.
It felt good being that close to someone so beautiful. All of my senses were engaged. The brush of her arm against mine, the aroma of her confectionary-covered body, the sound of her voice, the sight of her girl-next-door beauty. The only sense I was missing was the taste of her lips on mine.
“Ah, ah, well,” Katie suddenly said, breaking my trance, and I think maybe her own. She stepped back, running her hands down the front of her apron again, almost nervously. “I really need to get ready. I’m going to be late. I really need this date!”
“You bet,” I said, also stepping back. “The cake’s beautiful. I’ll just take it and get out of your way.”
“Actually, it needs to sit just a few minutes more to set. I’d feel terrible if it fell apart on your way home.”
“Oh, okay,” I said.
“Would you mind keeping an eye on it, while I step in the other room just for a sec and get ready?”
“Ah, no,” I said, having no option.
“Sorry,” she said, apologizing again. “It’s just this dating thing is so hard. I’ve had so many duds. I’m hoping this one isn’t another. Showing up late, won’t help, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I answered. “I totally get that. It’s brutal out there,” I commiserated. “Go get ready.”
“Thanks, she said, hurrying toward another door. I assumed it must have been her bedroom. “So, you’re single too?” she called out, trying to be polite by carrying on the conversation from the other room.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Divorced. It’s been tough.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said with a tone of sincerity, coupled with the sound of her own hurried movements. “What happened? You seem like such a great guy.”
I couldn’t deny the rising carnal list growing from the deep recesses of my body, knowing she was changing her clothes in the next room. Her excited voice teased my lust, being in an easy earshot away – knowing she was dressing for the opportunity to seduce.
“Ah, well thanks,” I said, as I stepped back away from the counter. Against my better judgment, I intentionally tried to nonchalantly steal a glance through the bedroom door. I glimpsed the light tan-painted room with white trim across the top molding, baseboards, and windows. A large four-post bed was positioned in one corner covered with a white comforter and bedding. A matching dark-wood nightstand sat next to the bed. A matching dresser with a large mirror sat across the room next to an uncovered window. Wood floors continued into the bedroom, covered in part by a pink floral rug that stretched under the bed. A large, antique, oval, white mirror stood prominently at an angle against the wall.